


Can I be the Alpha?

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you ever wonder where the Omegaverse came from? So does John. Sherlock is strangely silent on the subject...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I be the Alpha?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Can I be the Alpha?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/755548) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



They were skulking around in the bushes like two perverts, and any sane person would have avoided them. Clearly, children were not sane persons, which may be why Sherlock didn’t mind them so much. A slobbery, crying thing had run toward them and faceplanted into John’s chest as he sat on the grass. The blonde headed and blue eyed waif had stopped crying, after a generous application of the Watson charm. Slowly, John got her to admit she’d lost her family, and two sets of blue eyes turned to melt Sherlock into agreeing.

“I’ve got to help her find her family, so don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” John’s commanding tone helped, but mainly it was the pretty blue eyes. 

Hand in hand, John led the child away. With the hair and the eyes, other people in the park smiled at the father and daughter strolling through the grass. As he continued the stakeout, watching their suspect eat his lunch in the park, Sherlock allowed himself to think on the _John Problem_. Sherlock had returned from his hiatus, been punched, slapped, kneed in the crotch, and forgiven by everybody. John had eventually managed to call him brilliant again, so the world was once again as it should be. But everywhere they’d gone since, there seemed to be children. 

Sherlock noticed everything, and knew that there was a great deal of children in the world, so he only had to figure out why he wasn’t deleting their presence. It occurred to him now, standing alone in the park and hiding behind a tree, without John. The world needed John, as a symbol of all that was good and exciting. John was mortal, and Sherlock couldn’t fix that. 

Sherlock understood that he was seeing kids everywhere because he needed to propagate the species of John Watson. But Sherlock knew he was a selfish man and not about to give up John again. The thought of John with another person, even a woman, did not compute. Clearly, Sherlock needed to make more Johns without female assistance. Maybe it wasn’t biologically possible, but Sherlock was a chemist. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

A string of curse words sounded from upstairs as Sherlock ran for the windows. He’d opened the kitchen window and was on the first living room window when John opened the second. The noxious fume didn’t even have the decency to be visible; they looked like madmen leaning out their respective windows and panting. 

Sherlock milked the nausea and eyeball stinging stench for all it was worth, as gagging and crying was infinitely preferable to explaining what he’d been up to. His great act of selflessness needed to be presented fully formed or else it’d be dismissed as impossible. And if his final compound smelled anything like that, he’d have to add a powerful aphrodisiac just to get the needed samples. Finally ready, with prevarications and distractions on his lips, he pulled his head back in the flat and waited for John to ask what the colorful metaphor he’d been trying to do. 

“You ever make that odor again and I will leave you to the mercy of the neighbors.” 

“Agreed.” Sherlock was aware he was smiling, but John saw it before he could damp it down. 

“What’s the smirk about?” 

“You always surprise me; that’s one of the many reasons I love you.” 

“You love me as in best mates kind of love?” 

That wiped the grin off Sherlock’s face. What to do? Backtrack, say it was platonic, or let it out? Hurry up and decide since John was coming to his own conclusions about how silent Sherlock was being? 

“I could admit to a certain lust being involved, if it wouldn’t strain our friendship unduly.” 

“Bloody hell, Sherlock.” Blue eyes, still with tear tracks and blood rushing to the capillaries, stopped inches from Sherlock’s face. Lips under eyes began to kiss each other, and it all went upstairs from there. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

John was frowning at the evening news when Sherlock made it home, two neatly folded papers resting in his pocket. Even though he knew he was clean and John had himself checked regularly, they’d still decided to wait until the results came back before risking unprotected sex. Actually, the practical, medical side of John had threatened to withhold all sexual activity until the results came back since Sherlock hadn’t shut up about going bareback. They’d gone in that morning for the blood draws, and John had gone on to work an afternoon shift. Sherlock had badgered and verbally eviscerated the medical staff until they had run the tests to get him to leave. He’d read the results in the cab on the way back to Baker street. 

“John.” 

“Just a moment, love.” 

Sherlock faltered in the doorway; John never ignored him. Shaking his head, Sherlock hung up his coat, pulled out the lab results and went to flop on John and the couch. John was beautiful from this angle, with his concentration on the news. When the segment was over, John muted the telly and frowned down at Sherlock. 

“What do you make of that?” 

“What do I make of what?” 

“The news? It’s been in the paper for a while and now it’s on the telly.”

“Anybody murdered?” 

“A dozen gay men in the greater London area have turned up pregnant, Sherlock. It’s not murder, but it is life or death.” 

“I thought that wasn’t possible.” 

“Not except in some very specific circumstances, which is why it’s newsworthy.” 

“Well, you’re not gay and we both have a clean bill of health.” Holding up the papers, Sherlock lowered his voice to just where it would hit John below the belt. “Bedroom?” 

John dumped Sherlock in the floor in his haste to get there. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

One of the worst things in the known universe was admitting someone else was right. That usually wasn’t so bad when it was John, but this time it was more complex. John was right and Sherlock was wrong, and that certainly didn’t help with Sherlock’s nausea. Before John left on his emergency medical conference, he’d told Sherlock to take it easy. He was worried about Sherlock’s bouts of sleepiness and stomach cramps. Muttering about transport, Sherlock had hurried off on the first interesting case he came across. 

It had involved running around in the chilly, foggy night and Sherlock had lived through worse. Yet, this time, the universe had decided to prove John right and shoved Sherlock into the path of some germ, picked up from the boring men who kept hitting on him. He’d gone to bed after solving the case and actually slept. He still woke up with rolling nausea, a migraine, abdominal cramping and the ability to smell everything in greater London. He’d never even heard of an increased ability to smell as a symptom of anything and if he could open his eyes without his head exploding like something in a cheap zombie movie, he’d have looked it up. 

The shutting of the downstairs door grabbed his attention, hoping it was John. Even his body knew John could fix this; not just any doctor but John and only John could ease the emptiness Sherlock felt. Footsteps on the stairs, quicker than Mrs. Hudson and her bad hip, but slower than an angry or running John. He was probably tired from his trip, and thinking about whatever it had been about. But Sherlock knew John, knew he’d find Sherlock in pain and be forced to fix it. 

Sherlock could picture it clearly, John taking his temperature and offering worried words. Maybe, that hand would go from his forehead to his neck, which John so loved to play with, and John would kiss him. Kissing, yes, and then hands moving down to take the temperature of other body parts, parts that were already at half-mast. 

“Sherlock, are you home?” 

“Bedroom!” Sherlock replied, as softly as he could and still be heard. 

“Don’t know if I’ve the energy, love. Got a bit of mystery for you anyway.” The sound of John’s voice and the wheels of his suitcase stopped outside the bedroom door. “What is that smell? It’s fantastic.” 

“What smell?” Now Sherlock was confused. He could smell the bins on the other side of the building and downstairs, but nothing that smelled fantastic. 

John opened the door, freezing in the doorway. Eyes dilating, he licked his lips and was suddenly very energetic if his trousers were to be believed. 

For his part, Sherlock got a whiff of the fantastic smell and easily identified it as tea and comfort: John. Sherlock’s flag went for the full mast, waving down John’s attention. 

“John.” A simple word that meant everything when said the right way. Sherlock must have found the right way because John was stripping as he found his way to the bed. Sherlock had lost his clothes before he first lay down to sleep, as even the finest fabrics were scratching at his overly sensitive skin. John was still in his pants and socks when he joined Sherlock on the bed, kissing him feverishly. 

Simply smelling John seemed to get rid of that headache, just as John’s smell was covering up the smells of the rest of the world. Everything was John and all was right with the world, until John started sniffing around Sherlock’s cock. 

“No, fuck me, John!” It was a plea and a demand, and fortunately John responded to both from Sherlock. 

“Eager are you?” John asked before wrapping his lips around the head of Sherlock’s cock. He paused his light sucking when his hand moved to Sherlock’s ass. He let go of Sherlock’s cock to say something, in a surprised, lust filled voice. “You prepped yourself for me? Oh, love, that is so sexy.” 

Frowning, Sherlock looked down. John was staring intently at Sherlock’s ass as his fingers slid easily in. Sherlock hadn’t been thinking about sex, well, not much, so he hadn’t stretched or lubed himself. He was about to ask, but John curled his three fingers into Sherlock’s prostate. Moaning with relief, Sherlock put the question out of his mind, or it was forced out by the pleasure; same thing. 

“The thought of you teasing yourself, waiting for me, it’s so filthy. Who am I to refuse such an offer?” 

Sherlock picked his head up to glare down his long body. “Get on with it!” 

John looked up to grin at him, his teasing done. Pulling his hand out, he looked back down to watch his cock disappear into Sherlock. When pelvis met pelvis, they locked eyes and John started sliding in and out. He was planning on enjoying this, making it last after their three days apart. 

Sherlock wanted more; he wanted fast and rough with just enough pain to double the pleasure. He was trying to find a way to tell John when he noticed John was speeding up. His eyes had lost focus, though he was still seeing Sherlock. As if something animalistic was rising up in John, he growled as his thrusts took on a wild edge. Sherlock threw back his head and almost howled at how good it felt. Trust John to understand, to throw Sherlock’s left leg over his right shoulder and rest his elbows on either side of Sherlock’s ribs. From this new position, John could hit Sherlock so deep it felt like he had two prostates up there. 

Sherlock would just forget about his cock trapped between them, and a particularly vigorous thrust would provide it with a bit of friction and a reminder of its reason for being. Dropping his head to Sherlock’s chest, John bit him. Not the usual, safe, love nibbles Doctor John would allow, but a blood drawing bite that had Sherlock cumming between them. John kept pounding into him through the orgasm, even as the friction increased. 

Sherlock was slowly returning to his senses, slowly because he was very much enjoying John fucking him, and starting to wonder. Did he need more lube, the lube he’d never put in to begin with? There had to have been lube for them to slide together so smoothly, but either the lube had been expelled or John was growing. John thrust a final time, his shouted climax an amazing distraction. 

Holding each other, John learned to breathe again while Sherlock waited for him to soften. John was still blissed out when he slid off Sherlock, giving a surprised yelp as his cock did not come out of Sherlock. Moving back into a comfortable position, John frowned down at Sherlock. 

“Is this some sort of experiment?” 

“No!” Sherlock protested automatically, even as his brain worked through John’s question. “How could you possibly kill someone with a swollen cock?” 

“Why don’t you work on that while I call for an ambulance?” 

“You want strangers to separate us?” 

“Unless you have a damn fucking good explanation for this, it counts as a medical problem.” 

“Are you feeling any other symptoms of anaphylaxis?” 

“No.” 

“Then could we give it a few minutes?” 

“Let me think. No, medical mystery wins. Hand me your phone.” 

Sherlock blinked, and smiled. John didn’t know where Sherlock’s phone was, and John’s phone was over by the door in his trouser pocket. “Once again, you’ve shown your hand.” 

“Sherlock! This could be serious, especially if you don’t know what caused it.” 

“You’re the medical man, I’d think you wouldn’t want to be caught with your diagnostic pants down, so to speak.” 

“Fuck you.” John gave a small thrust of hips as an emphasis to his statement, and both men’s eyes got wider. “Fuck me,” John amended, “I just came a little.” 

“John, I have insufficient data with which to form a hypothesis, but I might find that fucking hot.” 

“Keep that up and I’ll be ready to go again and I’ll never get out of you.” 

“Oh, I find that to be even hotter.” Sherlock shoved on a pleased looking John and rolled them to their sides, still locked together. 

“Please, Sherlock, don’t be so sexy.” 

“Might as well as the wind not to blow, but for you I’ll try.” Some part of Sherlock knew they needed to separate, to figure all this out, but most of Sherlock was rooting for another rodgering. “Tell me about the mystery you mentioned, before you threw me down and made passionate love to me.” 

“Berk.” John said, while trying to remember the last few days. “The first reported cases of male pregnancies are coming in from the continent and Ireland. They’re looking for patient zero, you know the first person with a recognized condition who might be responsible for spreading it around. They don’t have a handle on what’s making men pregnant, but they’re hoping that by finding the source they can get more data.” 

“It’s a decent plan, best we can expect from a bunch of doctors, I suppose.” 

“Which is why I’m telling a detective, even if he is an annoying prick who likes my cock in his lush arse.” The licentious thoughts were working hard to get John back under their control, but he snapped out of it, without snapping his hips again. “So, patient zero. He’s harder to find than you’d expect because of the logistics. They’re looking for men who have the potential to become pregnant, who might have panicked or lost the baby, as well as the men who have tested by doctors. Some straight men might also have gained the ability but without another male’s genetic input, they wouldn’t get up the duff. Gay men aren’t everywhere, like het couples are, so it makes it hard to find a pattern, but they think it’s somewhere in London.” 

“London has such a high population it might have simply shown up here first.” 

“Wonder if they thought of that. My main part was learning the symptoms to ask patients about and which authorities to notify.” 

“What are the symptoms?” 

“Do you really want to know?” 

“No, but I’m trying to keep my erection from becoming noticeable.” 

“Oh, it’s been noticed.” John licked his lips, and forced himself to back into the discussion. “Symptoms include nausea, increased appetite, migraines, bloody stool, fever and something else I don’t remember.” 

“Increased sense of smell?” 

“Yes, that’s it, how did you know? Or are you deducing because I smelled something you didn’t when I came in?” 

“You were smelling yourself.” 

“No I wasn’t, and you know it. The human nose learns to ignore scents that are continuous, so people can’t smell themselves.” 

“Must have been slowly seeping through the bedroom door, and I only smelled it after you dealt it.” 

“That’s surprisingly crude, coming from you.” John licked his lips again, and the crude version of Sherlock hadn’t lessened his erection any. 

“Did any of the pregnant men describe the sex that lead to conception?” It was important that Sherlock know, because those symptoms were tripping alarms in his mind, but it would be a shame to waste two perfectly fine erections. 

“Oh, that’s the fun part that will have men lining up for this condition. The guys all said they had sex marathons that lasted for three to seven days. Medical community didn’t believe them, thinking the human body wasn’t made for that.” 

“John, considering that I’m hard and you’re able to rock slowly in and out of me, like you are doing right now, I think we’re about to prove the sex marathon is true.” 

“No, I’m going to pull out, get up and get us to a hospital for some tests.” Biting his lower lip and closing his eyes, John managed to stop pumping into Sherlock’s arse. 

With only a little bit more will power, he’d probably be able to do as he planned. But selfish Sherlock liked this animalistic John with the rough edges. Animalistic, which meant John’s lizard brain was working, and Sherlock had a few higher brain functions left to outthink that lizard brain. 

“Good idea, I’m sure those other male doctors won’t mind touching me. Sticking things in me. Taking what’s yours.” 

“Fucking mine!” John growled before ramming in completely and staking his dominance again. 

With a smug grin at the headboard, Sherlock let his lizard brain out to play. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Sherlock wasn’t so smug when he came out of his lust induced daze. Both his and John’s phones and laptops had drained their batteries while their owners were otherwise occupied. The kitchen clock helpfully informed him it was 6:40 and the light outside suggest in the morning, but all Sherlock could deduce from the traffic patterns was that it wasn’t the weekend. Instead, he plugged in the electronics and paced around the flat naked and raw. Sitting or standing were right out, and he was half afraid of laying back down in the same bed with John. What if John wasn’t out of the sex haze? Another go would kill them both, or maybe just Sherlock and then John would kill himself. A rather Shakespearian ending for a fantastic shag. 

“Bloody fucking gobshite!” 

Clearly, John was awake. But was he randy? John stood, cursed some more and headed for the bathroom. Sherlock went to put the kettle on. When John came out of the bathroom, he’d managed to put his housecoat on so his skin must not have been as raw as Sherlock’s. He paused in the kitchen doorway to glare at Sherlock. 

“I’m coming in there. If you put your cock anywhere near me I will cut it the fuck off.” 

“Oh, thank God!” Sherlock was relieved but kept the table between them, just in case. Happily, Sherlock started listing his complaints, using the multisyllabic words that had been lost to him while they were rutting like glowing rabbits on aphrodisiacs. After looking around, John set eggs, bread and butter on the countertop and set to cooking. The smell convinced Sherlock to sit down and eat. Without cinnamon or syrup, it wasn’t the best eggy bread but it was a good start on filling in the empty cavern that Sherlock’s stomach had become. John looked up from his empty plate and glared his confusion at Sherlock. 

“I’ve just eaten half a loaf of stale bread, and I’m starving.” 

“I could eat some more.” Sherlock muttered, not wanting to piss off John or admit to his own confusion. 

“Eggs and bread were all we had, milk has gone over, and I’m not up.” They both winced at that turn of phrase. “Um, ready for a trip to Tesco’s. Take away?” 

“What’s open at 8 am?” 

John’s stomach let out a growl to emphasis that it didn’t care what it was stuffed, uh, full of. “I’ll beg something from Mrs. Hudson.” 

Standing, John headed for the doorway. Sherlock knew John wouldn’t normally go before Mrs. Hudson in nothing but his housecoat or ask for food, so clearly he was desperate. John paused in the doorway, frowning down at where Sherlock sat. 

“What?” 

“Look at what I did to you.” John’s voice was soft but full of pain. Instead of going to Mrs. Hudson, John dived for the first aid kit. 

Before Sherlock could protest, John was cleaning and examining Sherlock’s skin. Letting John arrange him as he saw fit, Sherlock thought about each bruise and bite as John disinfected it. That was where John bit him for the first time, and Sherlock had cum. That one had been from a fifth orgasm John hadn’t expected, coming again because Sherlock had growled out his ownership of John. 

John had probably sucked a hickey on every part of Sherlock’s neck while they were in there, Sherlock had thought that when he was in the bathroom earlier. The back of his neck, where it had joined his shoulders, had been a particularly favorite spot of John’s to suck and bite. There were bruises on his hips, where John had held him, from the front and back. They’d been soft and gentle with each other as well, but that was usually while John was locked securely in Sherlock by his swelling cock. 

“I’m sore, yes, but you know I wouldn’t actually harm your lovely cock, right, Sherlock?” 

Pulling out of his thoughts, Sherlock frowned at the words. John was kneeling before him, rubbing ointment on the bite marks on Sherlock’s thighs. “Yes, I know. Why do you ask?” 

John’s eyes flickered to Sherlock’s cock, half hard already. “I was going to put some ointment on, to help with the chafing, but you looked like you were fighting an erection already.” 

“Ointment sounds fantastic, but I wouldn’t object to a leisurely blow job.” 

Rubbing the ointment between his hands, John worked Sherlock’s shaft to transfer it to Sherlock. The foreskin had to make do with John’s lips and tongue, and happily did. When Sherlock looked around after the orgasm cleared out of his head, John was gone. When John returned after only a few minutes, Sherlock almost didn’t see the tray of wrapped sandwiches for the blaze of blush making John’s face red. 

“John?” Sherlock asked, wondering just what Mrs. Hudson had said. 

For an answer, John sat and opened a sandwich before shoving the tray over to Sherlock. There was a note on top, the debris in the tape suggesting it had been on their flat door, the handwriting saying it was from Mrs. Hudson. 

_Boys_ ,

_Three days of the noise was all I could handle. Please call my mobile when it’s safe for me to return from my sister’s._

_Left some nibbles in the fridge, as I know how such things can make you hungry._

_Love,_

_Mrs. Hudson (ツ)_

They ate in silence, with matching blushes. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

“Nine days!” 

“I can count!” 

“Everybody else, the limit was seven.” 

“I heard you the first time, John.” 

“That’s right, you’re Sherlock Holmes, you deduce everything.” 

“No, I counted, once the reporter mentioned the date.” 

“And whose idea was it to check the telly for the date?” 

Sherlock didn’t reply, as they both knew that was John’s first idea after finishing the tray of sandwiches. 

“Did you deduce the pattern of the spread of this condition?” 

Sherlock was really hoping John wouldn’t ask for his solution to this mystery, as Sherlock was put off finishing his sandwiches by a reminder of a smell. The nasty, gut wrenching smell he had created about nine months (give or take some shagging time) before the epidemic started. Sex with John had reduced his time for experiments, but that incident stood out to him. Since it was their first kiss, he hoped it stood out for both of them, even as he hoped John never connected the two. 

“Have you deduced which one of us is up the duff?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer that one, because he remembered be on the receiving end of things for most of the time. 

“Have you deduced the reason we were hit harder than the others?” 

“Because we love each other more?” Sherlock snapped back, and John stopped pacing and yelling to smile back. 

“A reason I can believe. So, here’s a question I never thought I’d have to ask the flatmate I went gay for. Do you want kids?” 

“Only if they’re yours.” 

“They’d better be.” John growled, but he stepped forward to gently embrace his lover. “So, if you are, you know, pregnant, and they say it’s safe, are we going to keep it?” 

“Of course, otherwise all this would have been pointless.” 

“All this? All we did was have sex, and that was rather…”

John trailed off, and Sherlock’s brain reminded him that John wasn’t that big of an idiot. Sherlock locked his arms in place, wrapped around John, just in case. 

“Sherlock, I want you to look me in the eye and swear you didn’t have anything to do with a string of male pregnancies.” 

Sherlock scoffed, John tried to pull away and found Sherlock’s embrace was secure. 

“Sherlock!” 

“You can’t kill the incubator of your offspring!” 

“What the bloody fuck did you do?” 

“I don’t know, I only know I was trying for this a while ago. You were the only one that was supposed to get pregnant.” A firm hand on his head forced Sherlock to look down to where John was squished up to him. 

“Joke’s on you, isn’t it?” 

Before Sherlock could reply, John was laughing. Sherlock laughed back, directing his flatmate, man, lover? No, mate. Directing his mate to the couch, where Sherlock laughed and cuddled his heart out. Eventually they stilled, and a question nudged its way to the front of Sherlock’s mind. 

“John, are you going to tell people this is all my fault?” 

“Bringing kids to people who might not otherwise get them? Let’s wait and see how they take it.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Though we will be visiting the doctor weekly.” 

“Naturally.” 

“And cutting back on the dead things in the flat.” 

“If we must.” Sighing in pained acquiescence, Sherlock noted that John wasn’t demanding he get rid of all of them. 

“And if anybody looks at you the wrong way, I get to shoot them and you get to cover it up.” 

“Sounds perfect.” Sherlock knew he was grinning like an idiot, but with John snuggled up to his chest there was no one to see it. His plan had worked, just not as planned. Now the future would have John Watsons, and John would never leave him for a woman, because they would have children together. The grin slid off his face like a dead body down a lift shaft. 

They were going to have a child. 

Half John and half Sherlock. 

Sherlock was having a kid. 

Bloody fucking gobshite! 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

**Author's Note:**

> [Buy Me a Coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/W7W35853)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [And Suddenly...Omegaverse!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/905641) by [killallhumus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killallhumus/pseuds/killallhumus)




End file.
